


Shakespeare in the Park(s Department)

by sally (team_fen)



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-07 16:45:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5463773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/team_fen/pseuds/sally
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom faces a challenging week when the ghost of Ron Swanson is discovered haunting the National Parks Service office.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [l1ls3b](https://archiveofourown.org/users/l1ls3b/gifts).



> This fic has been loosely inspired by a funny production of Hamlet.

Donna can hear Craig shrieking long before he makes it back to her Benz.

“Oh my GOD!  OH MY _GOD_!  Did you SEE it??”

Craig flings open the door of the Pawnee Town Hall and grabs the night security guard by the arms.  “DID YOU _SEE_ IT???” he says in the poor man’s face, forgetting all rules of personal space.  Donna thinks, “Uh-oh, lawsuit,” but Craig thankfully lets go a second later, his long stride eating up the distance to where she’s idling in the parking lot.  He throws the car door open and flails dramatically into the front seat, back of his hand pressed to his forehead.

“It was TERRIBLE!  This is the WORST _NIGHT_ of my _LIFE_!”  He starts rooting through the pockets of his jacket, yelling “YOU’RE USELESS!” at the set of keys he produces and generally spilling a bunch of garbage in the footwell.  Terry shoots Donna an alarmed look in the rear view mirror.  

Donna has to admit she’s a little alarmed herself, and it’s the alarming feeling of sharing feelings with Jerry that has her saying, “Whoa there, big guy.  What just happened?”

“What HAPPENED, is that I went upstairs to National Parks for a C9 Permit and now I’m going to have a HEART-ATTACK.  I have HIGH BLOOD-PRESSURE and my doctor has advised me to AVOID STRESSFUL SITUATIONS, but how am I supposed to DO that, when I’m being AMBUSHED by the GHOST of RON SWANSON??  Will one of you KINDLY HELP ME FIND MY MEDICATION before I DIE IN THIS CAR??”

He collapses back in the seat, chest heaving.

Donna picks up a brown prescription bottle from where it fell at Craig’s foot and directs Terry to pick up a bottle of water from the backseat.  She passes both over.

Craig swallow the pills down noisily.

“Better?” Donna asks.

Craig just hands her back the bottle and drops his head in his hands, groaning.

Donna stares at the bottle disbelievingly but eventually sets it in her cupholder.  “So correct me if I’m wrong, but somewhere in that crazy freakout that just happened, I thought I heard you mention something about seeing the ghost of Ron Swanson?”

Jerry stops wringing his hands fretfully and says, “Oh! I heard that too, but Craig, that can’t be right.”

“Oh, and WHY NOT?” Craig demands.

“Well, for one thing,” Jerry says, “Ron is still alive.”

Donna nods in agreement and Craig bows his head in misery.

“Look, I KNOW what I SAW, okay?  I may have a lot of emotions, but I’m not given to FLIGHTS of FANCY.  I am a HIGHLY GROUNDED PERSON.”

“Okay, you saw what you saw,” Donna soothes.  “Describe it for us?”

“Well.  As I said earlier, I was on my way to get a C9 Permit from the National office, but when I got to the office, there was NO POWER, but there was a LIGHT COMING FROM THE FLOOR, so I called out: “Is anyone HERE?” which is when the FOG ROLLED IN--”

“Wait, what now?” Donna holds out a finger.

“FOG.  ROLLING IN.  THERE was FOG, Donna, AND IT ROLLED.  Can I KEEP TELLING THE STORY?”

Donna gestures for him to carry on, mouthing _Whoa!_ to an invisible fourth wall.  Jerry nods in agreement.

“And then, RON SWANSON STEPS INTO THE LIGHT like some TERRIFYING HARBINGER OF DEATH, and I am TOO YOUNG TO DIE,”  Craig gasps.

“Did he say anything?” Jerry wants to know.

“DID HE SAY ANYTHING!  NO, JERRY!  As in life, Ron Swanson did not feel the need to SAY ANYTHING.  He just made like the DRAMATIC GOPHER VIDEO--”

“I don’t think I know that one,” Jerry confides.

“How do you not know the GOPHER, JERRY!?” Craig rages, apoplectic.  “Like THIS:” he says, and demonstrates, snapping his head around and staring wide-eyed to the back seat.  “And then I SCREAMED like I was HOME ALONE and ran back downstairs.”

“Oh my goodness, that sounds terrifying!” Jerry exclaims.  “What an ordeal!”

“It most CERTAINLY WAS,” Craig sniffs, vindicated.

“Well, we could just go see if Ron’s ghost is still up there,” Donna offers.

“You believe me?” Craig asks.

“Hell, no,” says Donna.  “But I love ghost stories, and if there’s even the slightest chance that the third floor is haunted, I’m not missing out on the action.”

“Well, if it’s ACTION you want,” Craig says.

“Lead the way,” Donna says, pulling into a parking space and turning off her headlights.

“You know guys, I’m not actually all that great with ghosts, myself so I think I’ll just--”

“Come on Terry,” Donna says.

“Yep, coming,” Terry agrees.

They trek up the stairs like some intrepid Scooby Gang.  

The power’s still out.  

A light emanates from the floor, illuminating a very definite fog.  

The face of Ron Swanson appears, a ghastly spectre lit from below.  

His eyes wide, he lifts his finger to his mouth in the classic “shh” of a demonic librarian.

Craig screams and runs, but this time, he’s not the only one.

The spectre of Ron Swanson winces.

 

 

 

 

 

_[ROLL CREDITS]_

 

 

 

 

 

Tom’s Bistro is lightly populated with late night diners, Leslie, Ben and Tom included.

“Look, okay,” Leslie is saying.  “I get that Ingrid won a million dollars or whatever in the lottery--”

“179 point four million, or as I like to say, a few dollars short of my dream home!” Tom interjects smoothly.

Ben’s eyebrows furrow.

“Whatever, a lot of money,” Leslie continues, “but she had better not think that she can just buy Eagleton back from Pawnee.  That’s not even how government works.”

“I wouldn’t worry, I mean she wouldn’t have enough support for a referend--” Ben starts.

“Pawnee swallowed Eagleton, Ben!  We absorbed it whole and didn’t die of food poisoning, because if anything that would be more likely the other way around--”

“Whoa,” Tom complains. “I’ma stop you right there.  There will be no talk of oodfay oisoningpay in my awesome five-star restaurant that has passed all its health and safety inspections with flying colours.”  He points at the certificate on the wall for emphasis.

“Sorry Tom,” Leslie says.  “Enjoying your meal, sir?” she smiles and gives a good ol’ arm chug at the customer staring suspiciously from the next table over.

The man turns back to his food, unimpressed.

“Anyway, as I was saying,” Leslie continues.  “Eagleton is no more.  The Empire is dead.  They lost horribly and do not get to Strike Back.  Not on my watch.  I don’t care how much money Ingrid suddenly came into.”

Ben’s smile is crooked with love.

“Yeah?” Leslie beams.  “Is the Force Awakening?  No, no, you’re right, that was terrible.  I should have stopped while I was ahead.”

Tom gags.  “You two are unbelievably gross.  Get a room, nerds!”

Tom’s text message notification goes off, saving him from further interactions.  Having to endure Ben and Leslie while achingly single is too much to bear.  

The text is from Donna.  It reads: Kitchen. ASAP on DL.  NO KNOPE!!!!!

Tom texts back nonchalantly: wtf?, pockets his phone and excuses himself with a “brb”.  He might as well not have bothered for all the notice Ben and Leslie take.  Isn’t this honeymoon state supposed to wear off after a couple years of marriage?

Donna’s in the kitchen holding some kind of frantic huddle-up with Terry and Craig, who does not appear to have the paperwork Tom asked him to bring on his way over.

“Hey Donna,” Tom says.  “What took you guys so long?   I’ve been stuck alone with Leslie and Ben for the past 15 minutes and they already worked no less than 9 Star Wars references into the conversation.  It’s intolerable.”

“Tom,” Donna says, and he gets pulled into the circle.   He’s a little concerned about his eardrums, considering his proximity to Craig’s general Craig-ness.

“Whoa, what’s with the secrecy?” Tom asks.

“First things first, you cannot tell Leslie any of this because she will flip,” Donna says.

“Oh no,” Tom says.  “It’s Ron, isn’t it?”

“Oh my gosh, how did you know?” Terry gasps.

“Well of course it was Ron, Terry,” Craig stage whispers.  “With that lead-up it was either Ron or fight club.  Do we look like fight club?”

“What did I say?” Donna glares at him.

Deeply offended, Craig mimes zipping his mouth and throwing away the key.

Donna turns back to Tom.  “Ron is haunting Leslie’s office,” she states, bluntly.

Tom blinks.  “You mean, like, Ron’s hanging around, or like Ron died and is haunting haunting the place?  Because last I checked, Ron’s still alive, and still avoiding Leslie and so both of those scenarios sound crazy.”

“I mean that we all saw something tonight that looked exactly like Ron’s ghost, and none of us have spoken to Ron in a couple of days.”  Craig and Terry nod seriously.

Tom looks from face to face.  He laughs, hopefully.  “Oh my god you guys, this is a really stupid prank.”

“Tom, I swear to you we aren’t pranking you.  I’m going to see if I can hunt down Ron tomorrow using my not inconsiderable powers of influence, but if I can’t actually produce his body, you are coming with me tomorrow night to see ghost-Ron.”

 

> _TOM: “Look.  Am I skeptical of ghost-Ron?  Of course I am!   And if it were just Craig or Terry, I’d think they had some bad street meat and hallucinated the whole thing.  Ooh!  I should get a food cart, but, like, on a helicopter.  I’d call it: The Tommy Chopper!  Amazing, right?  But, like, more to the point, if Donna says Ron is a ghost, there’s definitely..._ something _fishy going on.”_

 

“Sure thing, Donna,” Tom says.  “Can’t wait.”  

 

> _TOM: “And if it’s an elaborate hoax, at least I’ll be able to pick up the permit while I’m there.”_

 

“And for real, do not tell anyone else about this before we find out what’s up.  Ghost-Ron “Shhh-d!” us before we all ran screaming.”

“Oh em gee, he shh-d! you and you told me anyway?  You broke silence!  What if ghost-Ron comes after me for this?  Have you seen no horror movies ever?”

Satisfied now that Tom seems to be getting into the spirit of things, pun intended, Donna hustles the other two out the back door so they can return through the front and join Ben and Leslie for dinner without looking like suspicious weirdos.

Tom shrugs and goes back out to the dining room to welcome them like he hasn’t seen them in days.  He’s possibly a little over the top, but it’s not like the lovebirds will notice.

 

 

 

 

 

“Aw babe,” Andy says, folding April into a giant hug.

“It’s fine.  Can we just go?” April says into his chest.

 

> _APRIL: “Eagleton’s super fancy community theatre held open auditions for their spring and summer seasons and it kind of looked like fun.”_
> 
> _ANDY: “We both tried out.  April was super good--”_
> 
> _APRIL: “No I wasn’t.”_
> 
> _ANDY: “But the casting directors were all morons and neither of us got parts.  They told me I didn’t sound like I understood what I was talking about - but jokes on them, because I_ didn’t _!  For real.  I have no idea what half those words meant.”_
> 
> _APRIL: “They told me I was too depressing.”_
> 
> _ANDY: “Your character goes crazy and kills herself.  How is that not depressing?”_
> 
> _APRIL: [Shrugs]  “It’s okay.  I saw Joan Callamezzo at the tv studio today, while you were in a meeting and she had some good advice.”_

Joan Callamezzo slams open the door to her former producer’s office.  “I’m going to do it anyway!  I am Oprah, Melvin.   _Oprah!_   And don’t you ever forget it.”  She drinks heavily from a bottle she pulls out of her jacket, points around the lobby, saying: “Don’t let the bleeeeeeeeeeping bleeeeeep bleeeeep bleeep bleeeeeepers get you down” and storms out, kicking over a potted plant as she goes.

 

> _APRIL: “She’s an inspiration.”_

 

 

 

 

 

Tom meets Donna at the Town Hall the next night wearing an overcoat over his finest ghost hunting dinner jacket and matching pocket square.  And just in case this turns out anything like Ghostbusters and he ends up stepping in ectoplasm - an old pair of water-resistant loafers.  Donna raises her eyebrow.

“Shut up, I look amazing!” Tom declares.

“Lets go,” Donna says.

 

> _DONNA: “Yesterday I was just excited to see some paranormal activity up close and personal.  Today, though, I’m getting kind of worried.  Ron’s work phone went to voice mail, which is no surprise.  But his home phone went to the answering message - Diane and the girls are out of State, visiting family, Craig had no luck tracking him down at the Very Good Building & Development Co - those guys are so secretive, I’m still not even sure if they’re Ron’s brothers or not.  Terry went by the Morningstar, but none of the guys doing work have seen him there in a couple of days.  I went by his house, but it doesn’t look like anyone’s home.  I even drove up to his cabin, and same.” _
> 
> _DONNA: “I can’t find Ron, and I’m starting to wonder if maybe he was paranoid for a reason.”_
> 
> _TOM: “Like, the government finally tracked him down?”_
> 
> _DONNA: “He never should have got a work phone in his own name.”_
> 
> _TOM: “Maybe it was Leslie.  You know in one of those hundreds of binders she has, there’s got to be plans for the perfect crime.  She does have motive.”_
> 
> _DONNA: “True, but Knope’s a softy.  Even if she did manage to carry it out, she’d be crushed with guilt and have herself arrested within hours.”_
> 
> _TOM: “Good point.  Maybe Ben did it for her, or took out a hit?”_
> 
> _DONNA: “Are we talking about the same Ben Wyatt?  Deathly afraid of cops Ben Wyatt?”_
> 
> _TOM: “Oh, yeah...  My money’s still on Leslie, though.  You weren’t there the last time she and Ron went at it.  I think Morningstar broke her.”_

 

Donna swipes Terry’s security pass at the door to the National Parks service, but nothing happens.

“Damnit, Terry!” says Tom.

“No, it’s not his fault.  Look, the card reader’s dead.”

Tom twists the door handle and pushes tentatively.

It swings open.

There’s a metallic clanking sound coming from within the office suite.  It cuts off abruptly.

Donna roots around for a lightswitch, but the power is, again, off.

Tom pulls out his iphone and turns on the Flashlight app - it turns on in Disco mode, startling him.  He fumbles and barely manages not to drop it.

“Tom!” Donna hisses.

“Sorry!  Sorry!” Tom changes it to a blue-ish glow to set the mood.  “Okay, I’m ready.  Let’s do this.”

They creep quietly forward.

Then the fog rolls in.

The face of Ron Swanson appears to them - some upper-body, too, if Tom’s being exact - lit by the freaky blue glow of Tom’s iphone.  

“Turn that thing off,” Ron snarls.

Tom and Donna yelp and run.

 

 

 

 

  
Tom stops at the door to the main lobby.  “Aw, no!  I forgot the permit.”

“What?”  Donna asks.

“Craig was supposed to bring it to Tom’s Bistro yesterday.  I need to file it by tomorrow.”  Tom gulps, “I’ve got to go back.”

“Tom, no!”

“It’ll be fine.  Stay here.  If I’m not back in fifteen, call the Ghostbusters.”

“Or security, but I hear you,” Donna says.  “You really don’t have to do this.  You’ve got nothing to prove.”

“It’ll be fine, Donna,” Tom psychs himself up.  “I’m going in.”

Tom climbs the stairs back up to the third floor (no elevators), checks the battery on his phone (flashlight dying is the worst cliché in the book), takes a deep breath, and goes back in.

Ron’s still there, but it’s less weird now that he knows what to expect.  His fascination wins out over his flight response and he finds himself asking:

“Oh my god, Ron, are you really dead?”

“That’s a personal question, Tom,” Ron glares.  “You know I don’t answer those.”

“Jeez, Ron.  No offense meant.”  Tom searches for something to say that isn’t “How did you die???” or “Can I touch you?” since neither option seems less personal.  “Just like, blink twice if it was Leslie’s fault?”

“Leslie certainly played a part in driving me to my current situation,” Ron agrees, grudgingly.

“I knew it!  Tom says.  “So, are you here for vengeance or do you just want some help moving on?”

“Tom, I like you, but you have a wild imagination and you are shining a light directly into my eyes.  Desist immediately.”

“Oh right,” Tom lowers the light a little.

“I do not want Leslie to know I am here.”

“Right,” Tom nods sagely.  “Playing the long game.  ...Oh no!  You’re not going to kill her, are you?”

“No Tom.  I do not know how or why you made the jump to homicide - nor do I care to know.  Just.  Do not tell her I’m here.  Do not tell anyone else either.  Go do whatever else it is you would normally be doing tonight.  Let me get back to work.”

“Okay, do nothing.  Check.”

“Goodbye Tom.”

“Going, going.”

Tom walks out of National Parks.

“Crap, the permit!”

He knocks on the door and sticks his head inside.  “Hey ghost-Ron!  I swear I’m going home.  I just really need a form, and--”

The power turns back on and with it the couple of lights Donna had flipped on earlier.  Ron is nowhere to be seen.  The air’s a little bit foggy, still.  It looks like the probable source is a dry-ice machine sitting over by the out-of-order bathroom in a pile of dance-troupe banners.

“Ron?” Tom says again, uncertainly.

There’s no answer.  

Tom grabs the permit from Terry’s desk and books it.

 

> _TOM: “What the hell?”_
> 
> _TOM: “...No really, what the hell??”_

 

 

 

 

 

“No, but why can’t she pretend to go crazy for once, instead of him?” April wants to know.  “She could fake her death.”

“Aren’t all deaths of fictional characters, in fact, fake, by virtue of them being not real?  And for what reason would she, a fictional character, choose not to end her life by faking her death instead of escaping her unreality by ending it?” Perd Hapley asks.

“You’re assuming that she’s less real in her own reality than we are in ours,” the bartender says.

“More importantly, why wouldn’t she want to fake her death?” April says.  “Why wouldn’t anyone?  You could go to your own funeral.”

“That is an excellent point,” Joan says.  April beams.

Andy texts her (“done meeting xoxo”) and she texts back (“@ bar across street xxx”).

“You know, that didn’t work out so well for Romeo and Juliet,” the bartender points out, topping up Joan’s gin.

“Poor planning,” April retorts.

Joan nods.  “I want all of my exes to come to my funeral and weep over how beautiful I am.  A couple of them should make out to console each other.  Oh Ricky, and your washboard abs!  Oh Julius and your soft lips!”

“It seems unlikely that this fantasy, the activity of imagined things, especially things that are impossible or improbable and may never occur, is a possible future,” Perd chimes in, helpfully.  “Although one cannot definitively say for sure because the future has not and will not happen until it does, in fact, happen.”

April’s phone buzzes again.  Andy sent her a :D faced emoticon, followed by a couple of thumbs up, a heart, and a unicorn farting a rainbow.

Andy appears in the flesh just as April starts wondering by what margin she can escalate the dirty and or creepy in her reply text.

“Hey Babe, I’m going to be so glad when the show actually starts.  These meetings are brutal.”

“Aw, Babe.  Let me kiss it better?”

April gives it her best shot, anyway.

“If indeed kissing makes “it” better,” Perd remarks, thoughtfully.  “Whatever “it” refers to must be improving rapidly at an exponential rate, as though on the trajectory of an upward curve.”

“I’ll drink to that,” says Joan.

 

 

 

 

 

Tom’s Bistro is catering the Annual Pawnee Parks Benefit (featuring the Pawnee Commons) this year.  Tom is avoiding Leslie, mostly because Leslie, through sheer witchery of being Leslie, figured out he’s got something to hide.  It’s making for an awkward situation.

“You should have just told her to stop asking about the surprise, because you don’t want to spoil it,” Donna says.  “Then she’d be the one freaking out, and you could just pick whichever thing she guessed that seemed far enough away to plan for.”

“That is genius.  Where were you when she was grilling me about looking like I wanted to say something to her?” Tom demands.  Instead he’s had to learn the hard way that he’s crap at hiding secrets.

“Probably warning Terry and Craig instead,” Donna says.  “I thought they’d crack first.”  Tom’s avoiding Terry too, and being in both Craig and Leslie’s company at once - for their own safety - so that Leslie doesn’t link them all up in her exacting, detail oriented brain.

“Well thanks for having faith in me, I guess,” Tom says, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

“Not a problem,” Donna smiles.  “Food’s fantastic, by the way.  Your staff is really outdoing themselves.”

“I will pass on your compliments to the chef,” Tom says, pleased, and moves on in order to continue to not be near Leslie.

Mostly Tom’s getting around the whole Leslie thing by shoving random people at Leslie instead, including Mona-Lisa and Jean-Ralphio who showed up with their dad and are more than willing to do anything without asking any questions so long as cash is involved.  

Chris and Ann show up as guests of honour and Leslie no longer cares about anyone else, so all in all, pretty good strategy.

“Look, Ben!  Ann’s here!”  Leslie shoves Ben aside to hug Ann, who is: “Pregnant, again!  Oh, Ann, you precious, luminescent sea turtle!”

Ron doesn’t come, because, well, ghost.  There is a hefty donation from his company, though, which Leslie accepts grudgingly.

It makes Tom really sad.  He’s been having an okay time compartmentalizing because Ron’s ghost was so blasé about Ron’s death, and the ghost thing has been pretty weird, but it hits Tom all of a sudden.  Where even is Ron’s body?  He should be here, celebrating with them, but he’s not, and he never will again.

Leslie is giving a speech, thanking everyone for coming and opening their pockets, and Tom is irrationally angry, because Ron should be there, but isn’t, and the best case scenario Tom can think of is that Leslie and Ron are fighting so hard that Leslie doesn’t even know Ron’s disappeared.

Tom can’t take it anymore.  He stands up to go -- and bumps into Ann.

“Hey Tom,” she says.  “Glad I finally got to talk to… you’re not looking so good.”

“Gee, thanks,” Tom says.

“No, I mean--” Ann sighs.  “You’re doing okay?”

Tom pulls himself together.  “Yeah, of course.  I’m doing great as always.  You, though!  You’re having another baby!”

“Yeah,” she says and rubs her belly.

“Listen, Tom, I really want to catch up with you, but I’m kind of wondering about what’s going on with Ron and Leslie and it’s hard to ask with Leslie hovering.  I thought the whole thing with putting condos up on my old lot was months ago?”

“You’re not wrong,” Tom sighs.

“It’s just weird.  Leslie forgives anyone who asks for it, so I’m thinking Ron doesn’t actually want her forgiveness.  But then why would he leave that donation tonight?  It’s almost like he feels guilty.  I just - I know why Leslie’s mad at Ron, but I have no idea why Ron’s mad at Leslie.  Neither does Leslie, I don’t think.”

“Huh,” Tom says, his anger deflating out of him as he considers this.  “It’s nice to have you around, Ann.  You should come back to Pawnee more often.”

“I miss you too, Tom,” Ann gives him a hug.

 

 

 

 

 

“On a scale of one to ten, with one being “not at all,” and 10 being “very,” how badly is Tom losing it?” Leslie asks.  “I need you to tell me, because he’s been successfully avoiding me all night.”

“Um,” says Ann.  “He looked a little rough when I talked to him, but that might’ve been the party-catering stress.”

“No,” Leslie says, firmly.  “Tom eats party stress for dinner.”

“Sounds appetizing,” Ben says, smirking.

“Oh Ben, I do miss your sense of humour,” Chris smiles, clapping him around the shoulder.

“Honey, he’s hiding from you like a golden snitch on the quidditch pitch,” says Joan Callamezzo, and where did she even _come_ from?

“Harry Potter reference?” Leslie asks.  Ben gives a tiny nod and pats her on the arm.  “How long have you been there?”

“She has _lit_ erally been drinking at that table since this conversation began!” Chris declares proudly.

“Wow, okay,” says Leslie.  “That’s actually pretty stealthy.”

“Leslie,” Ann tries.  “You said Tom was keeping something from you? Maybe he just needs a little space until he’s ready to talk to you about it.  You know you can come on a little strong,” she says, wincing.

“Ann, you wound me,” Leslie says, grasping her bosom.  “No, okay, that’s totally deserved.  I do come on strong.  Okay.  Space.  I can do space.  Lots of space.”

Ann and Ben trade doubtful glances.

“ _Tom’s coming_!” Leslie whisper-yells, and drags them all away.

“ _What are you doing_?” Ben asks.

 _“I don’t know_ !” says Leslie.  “ _I’m not good at space_ . _Just, freeze!  Be quiet, so he doesn’t notice us_.”

“I don’t that will--,” Ben starts.

“Shh!” Leslie says.

 

> _TOM: “This is getting stupid.  Will someone find Ron’s body already, so at least we know whether he’s alive or dead?   At what point do we actually get police to start searching for a guy who clearly did not want to be found?  I really just want to tell Leslie at this point that Ron's dead, but Ron asked me not to.  Directly.  How do I ignore the wishes of a dead guy?  Or can I ignore them if they're not the last wishes of a dying guy before he's dead?  Did I just find a loophole?"  
> _

 

"What's he saying?" Leslie shakes Ben's shoulder.

 

> _TOM: “Okay and weird problem number two.  Will someone explain to me what’s going on with April?  She’s started staring through me, like, significantly more than usual, and it’s starting to get to me.”_

 

Tom and April run into each at the dessert table.  Or rather, April is _right behind him_ when Tom turns around with a beautifully fired crême brulée.  He nearly drops it, and wouldn’t that be a shame?

“Tom,” April states, dead-eyed.

“April,” Tom returns, instinctively leaning away.  “Okay, well this is super creepy and I have to be somewhere else.  It’s fine.  I could go sit down.  Or should I just leave this dessert table to you?  Yes?  Okay.  This one’s all yours.  Good talk.”

April’s eyes follow him as he clutches his brulée to his chest and walks-not-runs away.

 

> _TOM:_ _[screams internally]_

 

 

 

 

 

“Hey guys,” Tom greets Mona-Lisa and Jean-Ralphio.  “I need you to do something kind of weird for me.”

“Money!” Mona-Lisa says, making grabby hands.

Tom, prepared for this, holds out a twenty, which Mona-Lisa then snatches from his hands.  She giggles loudly.

“Course Tom, I’d do anything for you, boo!” Jean-Ralphio grins.

“Okay, I need you to go over to Leslie and ask her to tell you how she’d murder someone and get away with it,” Tom says.

“Whoa!  Dark bro,”  Jean-Ralphio laughs.  “Ok no prob.  I got this.”

Tom has to edge closer to hear them.

“The perfect crime,” Leslie is saying, “is of course, the one where no one was hurt because no crime was committed.”

  
“Aw that’s sweet, Knope,” Jean-Ralphio says, “but what if you just have to kill someone and hide the body?”

“Kill them with love and kindness” Leslie lists.  “No need to hide them - they’ll expire from frustration on their own time.  What’s my criminal mastermind type?”

 

> _TOM: “Wow, that was…”_
> 
> _JEAN-RALPHIO:  “I know, right?  Knope’s straight like an ARR-ROW!”_
> 
> _MONA-LISA: [holding out hands]  “Money!  Pay me!}_

 

 

 

 

 

“So Tom just sent Jean-Ralphio over to find out how to kill someone and get away with it,” Leslie says.  “ I think that raises him to at least a 9 on the scale.”

“What scale,” Ann asks, blankly.

“The one where we decide how far Tom can go before Leslie organizes an intervention,” Ben says.

“It’s comparable to what the hospital asks you when they want to know how much pain you’re in!” Leslie hand-waves.  

“It is definitely better to know there’s a problem at 5 than at 9,” Chris agrees brightly.

“That it is, Chris.  That it is.”

“I’m just putting this out there,” Ann says, “but is it possible Tom’s having a bad day?”

“Ann, you sweet, moon-faced pudding cup, it’s been a couple of days, now, and he’s getting worse with each passing moment.”

“It’s okay,” says Joan Callamezzo.  “I got this.”  She heaves herself up and walks away, listing from side to side.

“That was so nice of her!”  Chris says.

 

> _LESLIE:  “Yes, I know I worry.  And yes, I know sometimes it’s too much, but I know something’s going on with Tom and I don’t want him ruining his life now that things are finally working out for him.  All I really want is for all my friends to be happy.  And my kids to grow up and be super successful so I can brag about them to everyone I know.  But yes, I want them to be happy, too, although hopefully their happiness involves marrying Ann’s kids so we can finally be family forever.   I may or may not have planned our life together in a scrapbook I may or may not have carefully put together over many hours.”_

  
Tom’s pacing behind Leslie, but he ducks away before she turns around.  Leslie narrows her eyes.

 

 

 

 

 

“Ben,” says Tom.  “Can I talk to you for a minute.”

“Oh sure, Tom,” Ben says.  “Come on in.”

Tom walks in, locks the door and shuts the blinds before dropping on the sofa.

“Soo...,” Ben says, disconcerted.  “What did you want to talk about?”

“Look I don’t have a lot of time, so I’m just going to ask you straight up,” Tom says.

“Sure, Tom,” Ben nods.  “Whatever you like.”

“Okay, so Ron’s ghost is haunting Leslie’s office.  Did Leslie kill him?”

“...Is this a hypothetical situation?” Ben asks.

The curtain shakes.

“What the hell?”  Tom asks.  “Is that Leslie?”

“Whoa, Tom!” Ben says his hands out calmingly.  “Take it easy.”

Tom takes an edge of curtain and yanks.

The curtain unravels, and… Joan Callamezzo rolls out onto the floor.

“That was unexpected,” Tom says.

“I wish I could say I can explain, but--” says Ben.

“I don’t wanna get up,” Joan groans, waving her hand towards their voices.  “Five more minutes.”

“You should probably go,” Ben tells Tom.

“Yep,” says Tom.

“Tom’s losing it?” Leslie asks.

“He’s maybe a little bit paranoid,” says Ben.  “But then again, he did find Joan Callamezzo hiding in my office curtains, so who knows.”

“Really?”  Leslie asks.  “How long was she there?”

“Maybe the night?” Ben guesses.

“Huh,” Leslie says.

“Yeah.  I’m wondering how she’ll react if I ask her if she’d like to check herself into rehab.”

“Keep me posted.”

 

 

 

 

 

“We’re off,” Ann tells Tom.  She and Chris have dropped by the Bistro on the way out of town.

“Okay.  Keep me updated on Oliver’s sizes so I can keep being the coolest uncle, ever.”

“Okay, take care of yourself.  Come visit.”

“Oh!” says Chris.  “I forgot to mention!  Are you and Donna Meagle still participating in ‘Treat Yo’ Self?’”

“Um, yeah, sure we do.”

“I was just looking at a brochure for Eagleton’s new bar!  It _literally_ looks like the most expensive place to eat in America.”

“No way,” Tom says.  “I’ll have to check it out.  Thanks, Chris.”

Chris beams.

 

 

 

 

  

>   _TOM: [ on phone] Donna are you busy?  Yes?  Aw, too bad.  Okay, nah, nothing big.  See ya._
> 
> _TOM: Then I guess it’s just me.  Tiiime…. to Treat Yo’ Self, solo edition!_

 

Tom meets Ingrid de Forest in the Eagleton bar.  Which is, actually, Ingrid’s Eagleton bar.  And actually, it’s kind of an entire lake-house, so really more of a country club slash resort than a bar.  

It’s gorgeous - the height of excess, particularly since Ingrid imported the lake.  It should be making Tom feel better just to breathe the air, but really he just hates that he’s not there with people he actually likes.

Perversely, it makes him feel better, because he’s hiding, sure, but, it’s also sort of a workcation - checking out the competition, sort of.  It’s okay if he doesn’t like every day at work.

“Hey there stranger,” Ingrid says.

Tom objects to the familiarity… or the lack thereof.  Does she not remember him?

“Ingrid,” Tom says.  Keep it cool.  “Nice place you’ve got here.”

“Isn’t it?” she says, dreamily.

It is.  Amazing what a gazillion dollars will buy.

“Nice to see you Pawnee folks occasionally make it across town limits.”

“Technically, this is Pawnee,” Tom rolls his eyes, “since we, you know, merged.”

“And yet, you’re all the way out here, all by yourself,” Ingrid says.  

The logic twisting is astounding.

“Trouble in paradise?” she asks.

Tom glares.  “Let’s not talk,” he says.

 

> _TOM: I hate people.  Is this how Ron and April feel all the time?  Felt?  This is the worst.  How do they keep from killing everyone?  Ugh.  All I want is DJ Roomba and a sweet party mix._

 

 

 

 

 

Andy and April sit in the National Parks office, k-i-ss-i-n-g.  Or, well, there’s a little of that, but mostly Andy’s singing nonsense songs and strumming lightly underneath.  Every so often his eyes light up and he tells her “this one’s for the show,” before he plays it.

  
They’re alone.  It’s nice.

 

 

 

 

 

Donna goes on a date with a super cute elementary school teacher.  When she gets back, she has 36 new texts.  One is from her date wishing her a good night.  The other 35 are from Tom.  She scrolls up to read from the beginning.

 

> _DONNA: [reading]  “Donna_
> 
> _Donna_
> 
> _Come on, Donna, ru there?_
> 
> _ru out?_
> 
> _ru on a date?_
> 
> _I’m so bored_
> 
> _omg, this place is the worst”_
> 
> _DONNA: [scrolling]  “...”_
> 
> _DONNA: [texting out loud] “You are so lucky I’m too tired to deal with this garbage right now, Haverford.” >:( _

 

 

 

 

 

“Andy!” says Leslie.

“Hey Leslie,” Andy says.  “How’s things?”

“Things are not good, Andy.  Not good at all.  I figured out what Tom’s been keeping from me this week.  Or should I say _Ron_.  Those two names are so easy to confuse.  Have you seen April?”

“She just went to the ladies.  She should be back in a minute.”

"Thanks Andy.  Tell her to come see me when she gets in."

 

> APRIL: “...”

 

 

 

 

 

The toilet flushes.  The sink turns on.  The door opens.  Ron Swanson steps out, carrying a tool bag.

“You!” Leslie points and shouts, enraged.

“Yes, I am me,” Ron states.  He pulls the out of order sign off the door and drops it in a recycle bin. 

“Why does Tom think you’re dead?” Leslie asks.

“Perhaps that’s a question for Tom,” Ron answers, a scowl forming on his face.

“I’m asking you!” Leslie’s voice rises.

“It was a ridiculous misunderstanding.  I could have cleared it up, but at the time I did not want to,” Ron’s pitch rises in concert.

“Oh my god, you guys.  Stop fighting,” April says.  “Leslie, it’s my fault he’s here, okay?  And it’s my fault Tom thinks he’s dead.”

“What?” Leslie sputters.  “Your fault, April?  Explain yourself!”

“I hired him to fix the bathroom, but I’d actually rather only do this once, okay.  Might as well call everyone else.”

“Everyone?  How many people are involved in this?”

“Everyone from Pawnee Parks & Rec.  Tom, Donna, Terry, Craig.  Oh, and Joan, but she was drunk at the time.”

“You told a  _ reporter _ ?”

“Hardly,” Ron snorts.

“Hey, I didn’t know,” Andy said, surprised.  

“Sorry Andy, I didn’t want to bug you.  You were busy with your show.”

“Aw, babe, you know you can always bug me,” he bumps her shoulder.

“Hey, I’m trying get some answers here.  Did Chris and Ann know?  Did Ben?”

“If any of them found out, I didn’t tell them,” April said.

“Okay, well.  Get them over here.  I want to hear about the traitors in my midst.”

“My company knew, as did my wife,” Ron reflects.

“Not helping, Ron,” April mutters.

  
  
  
  
  


Several one-sidedly tearful reunions later (well, Terry and Tom cry, anyway - Craig yells in Ron's ear and Donna slaps him in the face), the consensus is: kinda angry Ron let them think he’d died but really relieved he’s still alive.  April explains what actually happened.  Leslie grits her teeth and grins insanely through the whole thing.  


“Leslie, remember when you accidentally broke the bathroom a couple of weeks ago?” she asks.

There’s a couple of glances exchanged that say they remember a hammer flying through the air burying itself in the wall and bursting a pipe, but they’re not sure how much of it was an accident, since it occurred the day Ron tore down Ann’s house.

“You asked me to hire someone to fix it, but every contractor in town was hired out to work on the condo building.”

“I remember,” Leslie says, nostrils flaring.

Ron’s eyes narrow.

“So I called Ron.”

 

> _ APRIL: I blackmailed him into fixing the bathroom. _
> 
> _ RON:  It was devious.  And effective. _

 

“I don’t regret it, but I do regret that some of you thought he was dead,” April said.  “I thought if people came in late and saw Ron working he could just turn on the dry ice machine and pretend to be a ghost so they’d leave him alone, but I didn’t really think about how if you were a ghost, that meant you’re dead.  I just thought: ghost are cool.  Sorry about all the trouble I caused.”

And then it’s just Leslie wondering why everyone else knew except her.  And Andy.  (Turns out, Ben found out the day before her when he babysat drunk and chatty Joan, and Leslie is not super happy about that, but she forgives him on the grounds that he thought she was making it up.)

And Tom, who wants to know why April's been so weird to him.  "Like, I'm not imagining that, right?  You were significantly weirder to me than everyone else."  
  
"I wasn't weird," April protests. "I felt bad."  
  
"That was touching concern!?"  Tom half-shrieks.  "That was terrifying!  I thought you were going to murder me and wear my corpse."

April's eyes open with concern.

"Noooo, stop it!" Tom backs away, hands held up to ward her off.

 

 

 

 

 

“Still want to fake your death and go to your funeral?” Andy asks.

“Kind of lost my taste for it,” April admits.  “I think I’ll stick around a while.”

“I’m glad,” says Andy.  “Because then I would’ve had to fake mine too, to be with you.  It's not really my thing, though.  Kind of a bummer.”

“Yeah,” April sighs.

“I bet I know someone who is really into it though,” Andy lights up.

“Oh yeah?” April asks.

“Her name is Janet Snakehole, eternal nemesis and on-again, off-again, but currently on-again lover of Burt Macklin, FBI.”

"And what does Burt Macklin think about the fake death business?

"He couldn't tell you this, being a government stiff an' all, but he thinks it's super hot."

"Aw, babe."

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't, as it turns out, make the graveyard scene work with the rest of the story, but I wrote it before I realized that was the case. So hey, here's an extra snippet of Tom and Donna wandering the graveyard. (Imagine Orin as the gravedigger.)

“Oh, no, Donna, look at that gravestone: ‘Rest in peace, Mark Brendanawicz.’  We’re at Mark Brendanawicz’s grave.  Mark was such a cool guy and he had that great truck!  I didn’t even know he was dead.  How does this keep happening to me?  Who else don’t I know is dead?  This is a disaster.”

“Calm down, Tom.  Look at the dates.  1946 - 2015.”

“Whoa... I didn’t know Mark was that old.”

“He wasn’t, idiot.  That must be his dad or his uncle.”

“Oooooh,” Tom says.  “Yeah, no, I never knew him, then.  That is way less sad.”

“Right,” says Donna.

“For me,” Tom qualifies.  “Probably still sad for Mark II.”

“Uh huh,” Donna says.

“Mark II,” Tom says, and giggles.  “He was so great.  We should find out what he’s up to.”

“Focus, Tom.”


End file.
